


Danger Is Silent

by jay_girl88



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Steve Rogers, BAMF Tony Stark, Don't copy to another site, Hurt Tony Stark, Kidnapped Steve Rogers, M/M, Mild Language, Mob Boss Steve Rogers, Possessive Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 14:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18802345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jay_girl88/pseuds/jay_girl88
Summary: Tony is the front-running name in clean energy and defensive combat tech in the world, but what a lot of people forget, is that he was groomed for his whole life to be a weapons manufacturer. He grew up in war, around war, immersed in war, and somehow, people think that he did that without ever being part of it, but that’s not true. Weapons – whether it’s designing them, making them, or handling them – is practically coded into his DNA, but because he doesn't use that knowledge, it’s easy to assume that he doesn't have it.But he does.And just because he doesn’t use it, doesn’t mean hecan’tor hewon’t.The most dangerous thing in the world, is the thing that people don’t see coming.





	Danger Is Silent

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, right up front, this is another indulgent fic and probably not my best work ever XD There's just a lot of BAMF Tony in here with more self-indulgent Stony at the end. Hope you guys enjoy!

Tony had always had a gift; a certain predisposition; for processing large quantities of data at a speed not even matched by the most advanced of supercomputers. 

Like, for example, last Thursday, when he’d been working on the prototype of a watch that was meant to be part of a new line of combat gear he was developing. The watch itself was designed to be virtually indestructible, connected to the comm unit of the rest of the battalion, containing a tracker which was also virtually indestructible and activated based on the whether or not a soldier’s heart rate ratcheted up above the threshold that Tony had determined as the baseline for pain, and perhaps most notably, was embedded with nanotechnology that could be enacted to cover the wearer’s arm with flipping panels made from a gold-titanium alloy. Instant impenetrable arm shield in case of a sudden attack. 

And the time, of course. It told very accurate time. 

In the midst of designing the prototype and internally debating the practical feasibility of adding standard-command AIs into them, Tony had been on a call with one of his foreign investors, schmoozing the man and soothing ruffled feathers in flawless French, all while also running a critical eye over the interim financial reports for the last quarter and musing on ways to amplify the already-impressive turnover that Carbonell Tech had boasted. 

Tony was a genius. It was just a matter of fact. That amount of data processing was barely a flex of his brain capacity, barely a hint of what he was capable of if motivated. 

That said, he could safely say that his brain had entirely shut down on him as he attempted to comprehend any of the words coming out of Brock Rumlow’s mouth. 

Sure, the man was using really small words and talking to him as though he were a dim-witted child, but sheer incredulity made it difficult for Tony to accept any of it. His boyfriend; his Steve; the love of his goddamn life; was _The Captain?_ The biggest mob boss this side of the equator? The vigilante type, justice seeking, skirt-the-line-between-light-and-dark mob boss that struck fear into the heart of every man who committed any infraction against the people? 

And he had been… kidnapped?

It just. Wasn’t computing. 

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Mr. Stark?” Rumlow asked, not particularly kindly. He looked rather bored, honestly, save for the spike of vicious satisfaction that he hadn’t been quick enough to hide from Tony when he’d mentioned Steve’s kidnapping. 

_Steve’s kidnapping._

Oh God, oh _fucking Christ._

Lurching unsteadily to his feet, because he needed to move or he was going to be sick, Tony forced his words out from numb lips. “Steve’s in trouble?” he asked, although not expecting an answer as much as he was simply focusing his attention on what was important. “Steve’s… they, whoever’s got him, did they say what they wanted?”

Judging from the irritable flash over the attorney’s face, Rumlow had already covered this part while Tony had been trying to process. 

“They want you, Mr. Stark,” he answered crisply, without tact or care. “We can’t be certain, but based on their demand, these men are not among The Captain’s enemies, as they require your unique skill set and are willing to trade that, in exchange for The Captain’s life.”

So they were _his_ enemies. His rivals? Oh, fuck, Tony had rivals. He had thought that he’d left that all behind the day he’d turned his back on his father and Stark Industries. 

But apparently, Carbonell Tech was making as many waves in its short five-year lifespan as SI made in the past five decades. In any other circumstance, it might have even crossed Tony’s mind to be proud of the strides he’d been making in the empire that next to nobody had believed he could create. 

As it were, however, the only thing that mattered was the fact that Steve was in trouble because of him. 

Pressing his lips together until they turned white helped him to seal away the hurt little sound that built up in his throat the longer he thought about it. With slightly trembling hands, he snatched up the plain white envelope that was sitting innocuously on the majestic mahogany desk in Steve’s study. 

The picture inside the envelope hadn’t changed; it was still Steve, bound to a pillar, shirtless and uninjured save for the sluggishly bleeding wound on the side of his head that told the story of just how those cowards had managed to get the drop on his boyfriend. Three red dots were trained unerringly over Steve’s heart, the shooters out of the frame but making their point rather loudly. There was still block lettering in black marker on the back that clearly read: 

_Stark and 50k. Alone and unarmed, or game over. Three hours, CT._

This was no time for him to fall apart. He had to plan, he had to figure out how he was going to save Steve, there were only three hours to strategize before he had to go to, presumably, Carbonell Tech…

“…assume that they will kill him once the three hours are up,” Rumlow was saying, and once again, he was a nanosecond too late in disguising the smugness that filled his eyes at the thought. Tony’s stomach turned and he fought against the sudden violent urge to slam his fist into the lawyer’s face. Taking a cleansing breath, he made himself listen to the rest of what the man was saying. “Though in a situation not of his doing, the Captain still instructed our firm, in the event of _any_ such situation wherein his death or imminent death is guaranteed, to inform you of the nature of his _dealings_ , in a manner of speaking, and also inform you that you are the sole beneficiary of his assets and wealth. He has made certain to put provisions in place that assure you will be taken care of for the rest of your natural life.”

But there was only one word that Tony could focus on right then. 

Trembling, with anger now instead of fear, he bit off dangerously, “ _Guaranteed_?! What fucking part of this looks _guaranteed_ to you? What the fuck is wrong with you?!” 

From his right, Barnes was suddenly there, a calming hand laid upon his shoulder. Tony had honestly forgotten all about the other man’s presence in the room until right then, but now that he remembered, he couldn’t help rounding on the other brunet as well. 

“And just what the fuck is your problem?” he snarled aggressively, not really caring that he now knew Barnes to be a lethal enforcer and Steve’s SIC in this mob business of theirs. “Why the fuck are you just laying down and dying? He’s your best fucking friend, stop looking at me like he’s already dead!” The last word left his mouth weakly, as though he couldn’t even bring himself to say it, which wasn’t totally inaccurate. His fury at these people were just outweighing the panic and dread, at the moment, because forget Rumlow, Barnes was Steve’s best friend. Barnes and Tony had never gotten along because of it, because the ex-soldier could see just how unworthy Tony was of Steve, even when the blond didn’t quite see it himself, and he was protective enough to hate Tony for being selfish enough to stay even when he knew Steve deserved better. But where was that protectiveness now? Why the hell was he just standing there like saving Steve – and the way to do so – wasn’t literally written in black and fucking white?! The money wasn’t an issue, and sending Tony was a no-fucking-brainer.

Barnes, for once, didn’t rise to the bait. “Stevie…” his voice faltered just slightly as he spoke his best friend’s name, and though it was wrong, Tony still felt a vicious spike of vindictive pleasure because it _damn well should be hard._ It damn well should be, if Barnes was willing to throw Steve under the bus like this. “He gave us all very specific instructions,” he finally settled on, his expression strangely devoid of the usual scorn it held when he looked upon Tony. “The common part of all those instructions was to take care of you. _No matter what_. I’ve got to follow those instructions.”

“ _Fuck_ the instructions!” Tony spat with no small amount of relish. Shock was gone, now, replaced with molten fury the likes of which weren’t recommended to inspire within a Stark. Especially not _Tony_ Stark. The anger cleared his mind, lit a fire under his skin. “Fuck them, and fuck all of you, too. I’m going to CT in three hours, I’m going to get my boyfriend back, and if any of you – _any of you_ – try to stand in my way or stop me from going, I swear to God I will _take you down, too.”_

He looked directly at Barnes as he said that, eyes blazing, hoping that the man would pass the message on to whoever else was on Steve’s payroll and had dumbass “ _instructions_ ” to follow. 

Stupid, selfless, loving, amazing, idiotic fucking Steve. They were going to have _Words_ about so many things when all this was over. 

The impressive looking legal binder that had been next to the kidnapping picture, containing Steve’s will and an annotated list of the assets that would fall into Tony’s possession, went flying as Tony hurled it pointedly to the corner of the room. It could stay there forever, for all the fucks he gave about it. 

Jaw clenched, he grabbed his jacket and stormed out of Steve’s study, crossing the hallway and taking the stairs two and three at a time as he headed down to the basement he’d converted into a workshop.

He had work to do. 

 

###

 

Blue holograms filled the air around him, but even the comforting familiarity of his own space couldn’t negate the sickening feeling in his gut for what he was working on. 

_For Steve,_ he reminded himself. _You’re doing this for Steve._

And it worked, despite everything, because Tony loved Steve more than life and the rest of the world combined. He would do anything for Steve. Even this. Even… building weapons.

Eight years ago, back when his mother had been alive and Tony had been a normal, healthy 19-year-old, designing and building weaponry of this caliber, lethal and ruthless, wouldn’t have made him so much as bat an eyelid. He’d been so young; so starry-eyed and naïve, though at the time it would have been laughable to apply either of those monikers to him. But it was true. He’d been trusting and innocent enough to believe that the weapons he was developing was solely for the use of the US military, and that he was helping to protect the people. Like the company line, protect America and Her interests. Give soldiers a better chance to come home to their families. Achieve peace, someday, even. 

Those notions, and that childish hope, had been obliterated with the missile, sold under the table from SI itself, that was fired at the car he and his mother were occupying on the way to an army base to meet with his father. Along with that, they had also been struck with an even harder blow; the death of Maria Stark. 

Not even the emergency surgery and temporarily having a car battery and electromagnet shoved into his chest, could compare to the pain of losing his mother. 

Later, they’d told him that he’d been lucky. That his mother had shielded him with her body, which was what had kept him alive, and that armed forces had been quick enough to respond before the hostiles could take advantage of the situation and kidnap him. 

Tony told them that he would have given up all that for Maria to still be alive. 

In the month following the accident, father and son had dealt with things very differently. Howard had binge-drank himself into six separate cases of alcohol poisoning and used Maria’s funeral as a forum to publicly declare that it should have been Tony who’d died. Tony, on the other hand, had developed a miniaturized version of the arc reactor to replace the car battery, and subsequently realized that there were far better avenues of development to explore than weaponry. 

And what better way to honor his mother, and the sacrifice she’d made for him, than to turn SI clean? 

Not unsurprisingly, his father had disagreed. Loudly and vehemently. The fight that had followed was the worst they’d ever had, ending with Howard laying into Tony like a punching bag, and Tony packing a bag of meager belongings when he could stand and showing up, beaten to hell and sobbing himself hoarse, on his best friend’s doorstep. 

Rhodey had been borderline homicidal with rage, but he’d submitted to Tony’s pleas to let it go. The Lieutenant Colonel had also been happy to let him crash there as long as he needed – Rhodey was the actual best and Tony would fight anyone who said otherwise – and it was the first he’d felt at home since sharing a dorm with the man at MIT. It was also where Tony had come up with Carbonell Tech. 

And made his solemn vow to never, ever touch or come close to weaponry again. 

In eight years, this was the first time Tony was breaking his vow. But it was okay, it had to be okay, because this was for Steve and Tony wasn’t going to let anything happen to him. Not while he could prevent it. 

Expert fingers flipped the modified design of the watch he’d been working on last week. He’d added a manual activation switch for the tracker and replaced the comm interface with a targeting interface, to complement the radically new and yet untested repulsor tech he was installing in it. What was meant to only be a shield in the standard model, was going to be a gauntlet of sorts for him as soon as he could figure out how to connect the watch to the arc reactor. It would provide enough power to send a limited number of repulsor blasts, he was sure. If he included the nanotech to flip panels along his entire arm, like a sleeve, he could add the wiring between them, maybe even stretch the arm-shield into a chest shield to protect the arc.

Almost like a suit of armor, he guessed. 

“That could work,” he muttered absently as he envisioned the armor in his mind, making the mods with blurrily quick fingers so that the hologram reflected what he saw in his head. There was no time to fabricate an entire suit of armor, of course, but one sleeve and the chest would more than do for now. If they took a headshot at him, or a shot at his femoral artery, that would just be tough luck. 

As the fabrication started, he flicked the hologram away and pulled up another one, this time a design for a compact gun that fired a truly ridiculous number of rounds per cartridge, and had miniaturized explosives embedded in the bullets that detonated upon impact for maximum injury. They weren’t as intricate as the repulsor tech, so he’d probably have time to fabricate at least six rounds, and if he could add a self-destruct component to the gun itself…

“What’s that?”

Tony didn’t startle as Barnes’ voice materialized behind him, but it was a near thing. “Gun,” he answered shortly, not ready to let go of his anger at the other man. 

“Thought you were done with the weapons of destruction thing?” Bucky asked, somehow managing to sound both snide and accusatory, and Tony had to actively remind himself that Steve loved his best friend and probably wouldn’t be pleased if Tony used him as target practice. 

Queuing the bullets up to be fabricated next, he shifted his focus on to the gun itself to see if it was feasible to make it self-destruct. “Thought _you_ were a private security consultant,” he shot back evenly, still a little stung at the lie that Steve had been telling him for over five years. 

A cavernous sigh was his only response and Tony decided that he didn’t have time to bother with Barnes or changing the gun. He had under 90 minutes left on the clock and if he could design and fabricate a knife that could carry a charge, close combat would be a lot quicker for him, which was good because Jarvis had trained him to fight from a young age – a consequence of constant threats against him as the Stark heir – but the older man’s first lesson had been a golden one: _If you’re forced into a fight, end it as quickly and simply as possible._

“Look, I think that I… I haven’t really been… I was wrong about you,” Barnes finally managed to blurt out, and Tony knew without looking that there would be a look of genuine remorse on his features. For all that they’d never gotten along, Tony had always appreciated the man’s blunt nature, and Bucky never said anything that he didn’t absolutely mean. But where Tony might have considered the chance to find common ground with Barnes any other time, it hardly mattered to him right now, in his anger.

Tony didn’t even turn towards the ex-Sergeant. “If you’re looking for an emotional heart-to-heart, go call up your ex-girlfriend or something,” he snapped, flicking the completed gun design towards the fabricators almost viciously. “I have neither the time nor the inclination to it.”

“I didn’t think for a second that you’d go after Stevie,” Bucky continued, ignoring him, and if this was an apology, then it was a really bad one. “I didn’t think for a second that you loved him enough to risk…”

“I would do anything for Steve,” Tony interrupted icily, finally whirling around and stabbing a finger fearlessly into Barnes’ chest. Lethal enforcer didn’t even come close to vengeful lover as far as he was concerned. “But I’m not going to stand here and defend myself to someone who was ready to let him die an hour ago.”

Dismissing the idea of trying to fabricate a new knife in time, Tony instead stalked across his workshop to the suitcase he kept behind one of the shelves. It was some of his old belongings that he hadn’t anticipated needing again, but was now glad that he’d kept as backups. 

Suppressing a scowl as Barnes followed him, Tony focused his attention on the various butterfly knives, stun guns and one wicked looking dagger all wrapped in an old t-shirt that Jarvis had helped his stockpile in his youth. Bucky let out a low whistle as Tony lifted the cuff of his jeans and strapped the dagger with its sheath along his calf. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked incredulously, flicking his gaze between the suitcase, the fabricators and Tony. 

Despite his earlier words, Tony found himself answering as he stashed away another two butterfly knives. “I’m the front-running name in clean energy and defensive combat tech in the world, but what a lot of people forget, is that I was groomed for my whole life to be a weapons manufacturer.” Straightening, he fixed an unwavering gaze on Barnes. “I grew up in war, around war, immersed in war, and somehow, people think that I did that without ever being part of it, but that’s not true. Weapons – whether it’s designing them, making them, or handling them – is practically coded into my DNA, but because I don’t use that knowledge, it’s easy to assume that I don’t have it. But I do. And just because I don’t use it, doesn’t mean I _can’t_ or I _won’t._ ” Swallowing a little, because the knowledge and the skill wasn’t without its toll, he added determinedly, “I don’t like it, but I’ll use it. Especially when it’s for Steve.”

For a few moments, Barnes didn’t speak, but Tony didn’t blame him. Must have been difficult for the man to realize that he just might not be the most dangerous man in the room, anymore. It had been the same for Tony when Rumlow had started blathering on about Steve’s business.

“They aren’t even considering that you’ll fight back,” Bucky realized faintly, and Tony nodded a little grimly. That assumption was the long and the short of what his entire plan hinged on. 

Leaning a hip against the table, he regarded Barnes. “People see the Carbonell and forget that there’s Stark in me, too. But that’s okay, because I’ve always thought that the most dangerous thing in the world, is the thing that people don’t see coming.”

Silence reigned between them for a long moment, the only sound being the fabricators as they worked overtime to pump out the designs Tony had fed them. Eventually, it was broken by Bucky straightening and looking him in the eye, with nothing but respect and a hint of affection in his blue orbs.

“I want to help,” he stated definitively. “Steve’s gonna kick all our asses for letting you go anyway, might as well screw all the instructions to hell.”

“ _Instructions_ ,” Tony spat under his breath, still rankling at the idea. Steve thought he needed to be treated like a wilting flower? A damsel in distress who needed protecting from his mob boss boyfriend’s enemies? Tony was going to withhold sex for such a long time. Hours, even. Probably. 

Except most likely not. 

But that was beside the point. “Bring me your tablet,” he instructed, grateful that he’d gotten all of the employees of Steve’s “security firm” the kind of tech that came standard with his own interface software. He was still mad at Barnes, but he would be stupid to turn down help at getting Steve out without injury. “I’ll sync the frequency of the tracker in the gauntlet to your tablet, so you’ll know where I am within ten feet at all times.”

“I only understood about half of that,” Barnes replied cheerfully, “but if there’s a red dot to follow, you got it.”

Amazingly, Tony’s lips twitched slightly, but he doggedly refused to smile. Not while he was mad at Barnes. They could enjoy this newfound friendship once Steve was safe and Tony was done being positively furious. 

 

###

 

“You know what I never get tired of? People punching me in the face after they’ve kidnapped my super-hot boyfriend.” 

Snark was Tony’s default, as anyone who knew him could attest, so the fact that one of the men in the front of the van huffed audibly in barely veiled irritation meant that they really didn’t have any clue who they were dealing with. If it really was one of his rivals, then they clearly hadn’t done their homework. 

Tony had arrived at Carbonell Tech right on time, and their initial (and sickeningly thorough) search had lost him the dagger and one of his butterfly knives. In a stroke of genius, he’d secured the gun in a false sole under his boot, and taped the other knife to the edge of his arc reactor, correctly thinking that they wouldn’t be interested in touching the little blue disk, assuming as many before them had that it was a glorified pace maker. That in itself lent a little more weight to the theory that these people weren’t doing this for his tech; or at least, not primarily. 

After they’d rewarded his failure to come unarmed with a quick round of Tony-The-Piñata, he’d been blindfolded and tied up and thrown very unceremoniously into the back of a black van. Even as he snarked at them, he catalogued the turns and distances they traveled, trying to create a mental map on the incredibly off chance that his tracker, Bucky and the comm unit Bucky had insisted upon, were to fail. He felt a little insulted when, with the lack of any spontaneous and twisting turns, he realized that they probably hadn’t bothered to do a dry run. Did they honestly think of him as that weak of a target?

Assholes. 

When they stopped, he was dragged bodily out of the van by two sets of hands. “Oh, honey, you bring me to the nicest places,” he mock simpered, and had the satisfaction of hearing the man closest to him break out a streak of cussing. 

“Can’t I just knock him out?” the man grumbled to his partner. “I know the boss said to save the damage until The Captain was there to see it, but this is just fucking ridiculous.” 

Ah. So it wasn’t his rival after all. That was probably for the best, it wouldn’t do for any competition of his to know just why his boyfriend has a whole team of “bodyguards” willing to kill for him. 

Presumably, the partner had answered non-verbally in the negative, because they were frog-marching him through some doors without any more abuse to his admittedly achy body. It had been a long time since he’d been beat up, and despite his familiarity with it, it was never nice to get a refresher course. 

“Oh, look!” A sleazy voice called out, and Tony had to wonder to himself whether people had to meet a certain criteria of having slimy sounding voices in order to be a bad guy. And if so, who would conduct that interview? Before he could think any longer on it, the voice was continuing, “We have a guest. Say hello, Captain.” 

Before Steve could make any sort of response, Tony piped up, “Hello, Captain.” 

“No,” the voice snapped, losing its taunting edge for a moment as he got flustered. “I meant The Captain. He should say hello to you.” 

“He was probably about to, after I just greeted him,” Tony pointed out reasonably. “Only now you’ve gone and interrupted. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

The man must have made a move towards him, because suddenly Steve was snarling, voice infused with such barely-leashed fury that Tony’s mouth dried. “If you touch him – if you make a single move on him – I swear, I will personally mount your head on a fucking pike.”

“Language, darling,” Tony drawled lazily, drawing on his innate ability to appear completely unaffected by his situation. “Honestly, I don’t know where the fuck you learned it.”

Steve, to his surprise, didn’t rebuke him for the attitude. “Sorry, love,” he apologized instead, somehow managing to sound teasingly contrite. “Just trying to drive the point home.”

“Don’t blame you,” Tony shrugged, carelessly continuing his conversation with Steve despite the man’s repeated attempts to interject. “He doesn’t sound like he’s the sharpest tool in the box.” 

There were a few false starts as the man, ostensibly in charge, struggled to find the words to reply. It gave Tony a brief pulse of satisfaction because although he couldn’t see, it was enough to hear the man flounder. Served him right for kidnapping Steve. 

Unfortunately, a side effect of his smart mouth was getting into altercations, and the fact that he was tied up and blindfolded didn’t seem to stop Steve’s abductor. A fist buried in his gut without warning, and the surprise of the attack left him unable to bite down a pained gasp of air or plant his feet to avoid crash-landing to the floor. It didn’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things, because barely an instant passed before someone was kicking him in the stomach, and then someone else in the middle of his back, while another person connected with the arm he’d hastily thrown around his vulnerable head. 

Tony did the best he could to shield his head and keep from crying out, and it was all he could do until an eternity later when a sharp command had the lackeys stepping away from his abused body. Tony did a quick inventory of himself, cataloguing some cracked, possibly broken ribs, deep bruising and what may or may not have been a fractured wrist. His arc was fine, if extremely sore and heavy in his chest from the assault, but most importantly, the watch on his wrist was completely safe from damage. 

Forcing himself to push past the pain, Tony realized three things; the first was that the weird voice guy – christened temporarily as Slime Man – was talking again, and telling Steve that this was just the beginning of what he was going to watch them do to “The Captain’s little pet”. And okay, rude. 

The second was that there was a low, dangerous growl floating over the air, that Tony would bet his company was coming from Steve. It had probably been hard enough for his boyfriend to see him coming in with a bruised cheekbone, split lip and the kind of ruffled clothes that intimated a struggle had taken place beforehand, but watching those goons whale on him now? Steve was probably so pissed. 

The third, and arguably the most important thing that Tony noticed, was that the aforementioned goons steps sounded like they were walking _away_ from him. This was the only opportunity he was going to get to do something and Tony knew it. There was no way to guarantee that there was nobody behind him, stationed as a guard for the room, but Tony hoped that their continual underestimation of him meant that they were leaving him alone for the time being. Because who would think that the poor, defenseless inventor would try anything after being stomped into the ground? 

Idiots. 

With painstakingly slow, but almost soundless movements, Tony inched the blindfold off his head. Patience was never his strong suit, but then he’d been in situations like this before and knew all too well the value of it, so he forced himself to lock down every other urge. Steve’s life was at stake here, and that was way more important than lashing out and appeasing the temper was still simmering on a low boil since he’d first stormed out of the study earlier in the afternoon. 

Blinking against the harsh light as the cloth finally slipped away, Tony swallowed a sigh of relief at having his sight returned. As he’d imagined, all three goons were flanking Slime Man, none of them paying him an iota of attention. Not that he could really blame them, since a livid Steve Rogers was a sight people generally didn’t want to take their eyes off of, if only to avoid being trampled in his rage path when he unleashed it. Nobody was aiming a gun at Steve anymore, which was a relief, but Tony didn’t entertain the illusion that any of them were unarmed.

Tony awkwardly maneuvered his hands into the collar of his t-shirt to grab the butterfly knife still hidden along the arc. It took a ridiculous amount of restraint, but after a few minutes of sawing to the background track of Slime Man’s monologuing – which was surely another Bad Guy Requirement – Tony was out of his binds with minimal cuts and abrasions to his wrists in the process. 

He was free. 

_What will you do?_ Barnes had asked earlier, a few minutes before Tony could leave for CT. _When the shooters aren’t targeting Stevie and it’s clear for us to move in?_

_Signal you,_ he’d replied almost robotically. _Over the comms._

In his life, Tony had accumulated a lot of guilt. He lived with the guilt of designing ways to make killing easy for years, and the guilt of being the son to a man who still did. He lived with the guilt of knowing that his mark had been on the missile that had killed his mother. He lived with the guilt of knowing that she had given up her life for him, even still. 

As Slime-Man grabbed a handful of Steve’s hair and yanked his head back, Tony became sure he could deal with a smidgen more guilt. 

The barrel of his gun still smoked as the goons swiveled around to face him with eyes like saucers. By the time they drew their weapons, the nanotech from his watch was completely activated and covered his arm and chest in flipping panels of a gold-titanium alloy, while blue the same shade of the arc radiated with a high-pitched whine from the middle of his palm. His stance was military but his eyes were something else entirely; shrouded with the danger that came from threatening someone he loved.

“As you can see from the very precise hole in your boss’s head, I don’t miss my targets,” he stated, voice cold and flat and chillingly dark. Even to his own ears, Tony sounded like a predator, and the look in his eyes, the unflinching stance, was telling of how little he would hesitate to pull the trigger again. “Wanna see if this fancy new repulsor tech melts the skin from your bones before you can get a shot off?”

Glancing uneasily at each other, and then at the unmoving corpse of Slime Man, the goons made the executive decision to put their guns on the ground. 

Tony smiled, razor sharp and all teeth. “Good call.”

 

###

 

“A headshot,” Bucky repeated, standing over Slime Man’s body as another of Steve’s guys worked on his restraints. Incredulous blue eyes shifted to Tony, whose gaze was locked calmly on the goons as Steve’s people – Barton and Romanoff, as he’d heard it – led them out. It wouldn’t do to let any of his targets out of his sight until the room was secure. “A headshot, with a fractured wrist.”

Tony wasn’t sure whether Barnes was commenting or asking for confirmation, but he nodded anyway, not sparing a glance for the medic (Banner something?) that was stitching him up. “How do you think someone can design a weapon if they haven’t discharged one?” he asked rhetorically, and in case that didn’t make his point, he added, “I was going to a shooting range before I was going to a school.”

Before Barnes could comment on that, Steve was cut loose, and Tony abruptly shifted his attention from the door to his advancing lover. Banner wisely finished taping his wrist and made tracks, but Barnes stayed behind. Steve’s usually soft and playful blue eyes were now flinty with fire, and whether that was anger at Tony being there, or anger that the goons had laid into him, he couldn’t be entirely certain. 

In a move that would have bugged Tony’s eyes out if he were any less absorbed with situational concentration, Bucky inched in front of him, putting himself between Tony and Steve in what could easily be mistaken as a protective stance. 

“You need to get those cuts checked out,” Barnes blurted, and it was the most obvious deflection in the world but it was still enough to turn Steve’s ire on himself instead of Tony. “They need bandaging.” 

“What I need,” Steve bit off, voice clipped, “is…”

“To get yourself a ride home,” Tony interrupted, letting his temper flare brightly one more time. Belligerently, he lifted his chin a fraction as Steve turned his supposedly fearsome glare on him. It might have even been effective if Tony had never seen him sleep-mussed and cuddling the inventor like his personal plush toy. “I’m commandeering one of your rides and I’m not real interested in having a passenger.”

With one last frosty glare of his own, Tony turned on his heel and left. To Steve’s credit, he didn’t follow him, and Tony was only partially true to his word as he hitched a ride with Barton and Romanoff, striking up an easy friendship with the man as they chatted on the way.

The woman, Romanoff, seemed a little more reserved and a lot scarier, but she’d made a comment about how she’d told Steve to just come clean to Tony, so that put her firmly in Tony’s good graces. 

At home, the first thing Tony did was to gather up the folder he’d tossed just a few hours previously. He staunchly refused to look at it, not now that he knew just what they were, and instead just put them haphazardly in place and relocated to his and Steve’s bedroom to wait for the blond’s stormy approach. 

As predicted, Steve’s arrival was heralded with the slamming of their door, but where it was normally Tony’s place to silently bait his lover until the former soldier snapped and yelled, this time, it was the brunet who was bubbling with palpable rage. Even though he knew it would only rile Steve up further, Tony preceded his words by thrusting the folder unceremoniously against the other man’s chest. 

“If you ever,” he enunciated slowly, forcing the words through gritted teeth and suddenly stinging eyes, “ _ever,_ put some idiotic protocol in place that basically tells me to fuck right off and let you die, then you and I will have nothing left to say to one another.” His voice broke multiple times as he spoke, composure cracking now that they were safe and at home and _fuckingChristhe’sokaySteve’salive._ It didn’t really lend authority to the anger he was hoping to still hold on to during this conversation, but it did serve to melt his lover’s eyes back to their usual soft blue. “Do you understand me, Steve?” he demanded, realizing belatedly that there was something hot and moist tracking down his cheeks. “If you ever do that to me again, if you ever put yourself in that situation and… if you… and expect me… I swear to God, Steve…” 

As Tony devolved into disjointed sentences, vision blurring and throat closing up, Steve tossed the folder to the floor in favour of gathering him close to his chest. “Shh,” he hushed softly, sweetly, as he thumbed away tears and nuzzled Tony’s temple and pressed kisses everywhere he could reach. “Shh, Tony, hey, it’s okay. I’m here, we’re safe, I got you sweetheart.”

Various aches and pains made themselves known, but Tony didn’t give the beginnings of a damn about them as he clung to Steve. The fear from the afternoon finally pushed its way back to the front of his mind and Tony trembled in his soldier’s arms. 

“I love you,” he whispered, almost frantic for Steve to hear the words, to understand, to realize just why he couldn’t do shit like this to Tony again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Lips caught his sweetly, placing perfunctory kisses meant more to calm than arouse. “Love you, doll,” Steve murmured back, against his lips. “Love you so damn much.”

Gradually, Tony’s tears abated, soothed as he was by the kisses and gently comforting words. With a tenderness that wasn’t out of place on the blond, Steve herded Tony towards the bed, laying him down carefully and stretching out immediately beside him, torn, bloody clothes and all.

“You scared the hell out of me, darlin’,” Steve admitted softly, curling his body protectively around Tony’s. “When I saw them bring you in, those bruises on your face… and then when they started…”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Tony cut in apologetically when Steve’s voice started to roughen back into a growl, tilting his head to kiss underneath his boyfriend’s jaw in remorse. “But I couldn’t do nothing.”

Though he nodded, Tony could feel the minute shivers that occasionally rippled through his lover’s body. It was the first time, in Tony’s recollection, that he’d ever seen Steve truly shaken by something, and for the first time, the inventor realized that today must have been a nightmare that Steve had been dreading since they became serious. What else would have made him put the stupid rule in place to begin with? What else but fear could drive such a drastic measure? 

For the duration of their relationship, Tony had never felt less than immeasurably special, but that feeling of being cherished took on a whole new meaning for him in that moment. 

With slow, deliberate movements, Steve lifted his body to hover over Tony’s. The brunet sighed in contentment at the heat radiating off his lover, but pouted when the blond refused to blanket him like he usually did. Stupid ribs, stupid bruising, stupid everything. Tony knew for a fact that it would dissuade Steve from hot, life-affirming sex, and for that alone, Tony wished he could shoot Slime Man again.

His thoughts were derailed as Steve claimed his lips in another kiss, this one deeper and with an edge to it that Tony easily identified as possessiveness. It wasn’t a rare thing for Steve to stake his claim, especially with all the investors Tony constantly had to charm and sweet-talk, but there was a desperation to the moment that spoke volumes more about Steve’s fear than the blond himself would. 

And sure enough… “Mine,” Steve rumbled roughly, nipping at Tony’s bottom lip and licking into his mouth languidly, mapping out curves and ridges as though he were painting a picture. A hand found Tony’s hip in a bruising grip; the only mark that, come morning, Tony would be happy to have on his body. “Jus’ mine,” he husked again, dipping his head to suckle at the sensitive pulse point of Tony’s throat. Instinctively, the brunet hitched a leg around Steve’s hip and rocked up into him, moaning when he was met with his lover grinding down briefly against him. “God, Tony… baby, sweetheart, can’t wait to take you.”

The pet names made Tony’s chest glow with warmth, and he tried fruitlessly to convince Steve that he didn’t have to wait to take him hard, by drawing his boyfriend into a filthy kiss. 

Regrettably, the former-soldier tended to prioritize Tony’s health over everything else, and the inventor was forced to accept the consolation prize of lazy kissing and the occasional brush of light, apologetic fingers over cuts and bruises. 

There were still things to talk about – Tony’s foray back into weaponry, who the kidnappers were, the fact that his boyfriend was a fucking mob boss – but that was tomorrow’s problem. For tonight, Tony just wanted to lay with the love of his life and relish the fact that nothing was actively and currently trying to tear them apart. 

But he’d forgotten one important thing. 

The most dangerous thing in the world, is the thing that people don’t see coming…

**Author's Note:**

> As y'all can see, there is potential at the end of this fic for a sequel, but that's pretty much up to whether or not this fic is well-received XD So, maybe! 
> 
> For those of you who have read Certainly Uncertain, fear not! A sequel for that is well in the works; I just had to satisfy my muse with this baby, first XD 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this!
> 
> J <3


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